6. California Dreaming
6
California Dreaming
Rose
I hop off the plane at LAX with neither a dream nor a cardigan. Nope. I’ve got a sketchy-at-best plan to get near Anton and a rolled-up formal dress in my carry-on bag. So far, my party in the USA is not nearly as glamorous as Miley makes it sound.
“I hate flying.” Noli, my younger sister, puts her hands on the top of her head and closes her eyes. People are scurrying to their gates as we wait in the terminal for Collin, Noli’s fake-turned-real husband—it’s kind of a long story—to make it up the jetway with their bags.
“You guys didn’t have to come,” I remind her. Admittedly, I’m glad they did. This assignment is uncomfortable enough. It’s nice to have allies…even if they have no idea what’s going on with Anton.
“You kidding?” Noli scoffs. “We both have the weekend off, which never happens. And Poppy and Mack hook us up with tickets to a literal ball? I’m not going to look my Cinderella moment in the eye and say no thanks. Besides, Collin looks great in a tux.”
“I do what I can.” Collin winks at Noli as he joins us, tucking her into his side.
They’re so cute together. Even me, with the shutdown heart, can’t deny it.
The three of us set off for the exit, which takes us a solid forty-five minutes. Noli may hate flying, but I hate this airport. It’s an overcrowded maze, and it’s keeping me from getting closer to Anton and making sure he’s safe .
When we’re finally settled in the backseat of our rideshare and on the way to the hotel we’ve booked for the night—the same one Anton is staying at, and no I’m not letting myself think too hard about that—I go through what I know about the weekend’s itinerary.
Anton is making an appearance at the pro-am charity golf outing this afternoon. He won’t be playing, but he’ll be there signing autographs and posing for photos.
Mack’s brother, Holland, is a professional golfer. He’s our ‘in’ to this event. Poppy and Mack got us tickets through him, at my request. I need to make nice with Holland because if I can stick with him, I can circulate with the celebrities in attendance, which should give me the access to Anton that I need.
I log in to Poppy’s social media account—don’t look at me like that…she shared her passwords—and tap on Holland’s personal profile. A quick scan of photos verifies what Lennox and the team determined for me. Holland doesn’t have a girlfriend, which’ll make my job marginally easier. I’ll take it.
We pull up to the hotel and pile out of the car. I sling my bag over my shoulder and scan my surroundings. My gaze connects with none other than Anton’s—because, of course it does. He’s being ushered toward a waiting shiny, black Escalade, which I’m sure will take him to the golf course. A bevvy of bodyguard-looking men in black stand around the SUV, and I take a moment to be grateful for the extra security Anton is forced into having at events like this. One of the guys—the one who’s standing with the door open for Anton—says something to him, but Anton doesn’t move. He’s frozen at the sight of me.
Alright. I can do this. I slip my sunglasses on, as if they can somehow shield me from the hardened blue of his eyes. “You guys go ahead. I see someone I know.”
I take off in Anton’s direction before Noli and Collin can ask me any questions .
Anton waves off the security guard outside the waiting SUV when I stop in front of him. He looks undeniably handsome and official in tan slacks and a navy button-up with a Penwick crest pin affixed to the collar.
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my own personal mosquito.”
I raise a hand and give a jaunty salute. “Reporting for duty.”
“Cut the crap, Rose. What are you doing? I told you I wanted you gone when I got back from this trip, so what? You show up here? That’s not how this is going to work.”
“What can I say? I’m a sucker for your blood.”
He shakes his head, lifting a hand and massaging the back of his neck. “Just no.”
“You’re the one who brought up the analogy,” I argue, straightening my spine. “I had no intention. I’m a serious professional here.”
He rolls his eyes. “Right. I’m leaving.”
“For the golf outing. Sure.”
He narrows his gaze.
“Yes, I know your itinerary.” I tap my bag. “Part of my job. Don’t worry. If you don’t want to talk to me, I’ll observe. Watch you with people. See how you interact with them and how they interact with you.”
“Okay, creeper.” He scowls at me. “Why are you doing this?”
A bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck, and I could really use the five-degree air temps we left behind in Wisconsin right about now, because I’m all but melting under Anton’s stare.
“It’s what I was hired for.” Not a complete lie. “Like I told you yesterday, you’re kind of stuck with me.”
“Whatever. Observe all you want. Just leave me alone.”
I give him a cheerful wave as he climbs into the backseat. “See ya around!”
When I turn on my heel and head for the hotel, I find Noli standing outside the revolving doors .
“Since when do you know Anton Bates?” she asks, her tone a mix of awe and accusation.
I shrug her off. “I met him when I cheered in Mobile.”
Noli keeps her gaze fixed on me, like she’s trying to decipher a code that’s written on the bridge of my nose. “Did you know him well?”
Yes, and he knew me well.
I keep my expression blasé and ignore the thought. I really wish I had told Noli and Poppy that Anton and I were together five years ago. I could have been honest about that, just not about why we were together. But I kept them in the dark because I got spooked by how much he meant to me. I knew when we inevitably broke up, the two of them would have been able to see right through my lies about why I ended things, and I couldn’t have that.
I’m paying for withholding that information now, though.
“I mean, our circles overlapped from time to time, so I was around him a bit,” I lie. “Why?”
Noli raises a shoulder. “It seemed like there was some history there.” She pins me with a look that only a younger sister can give. It says, I know there’s something here you’re not telling me, and I’m not letting you off the hook until you fill me in.
“Did you get that impression because he looked annoyed to see me?” I chuckle, playing it off like no big deal. “Let’s just say we didn’t always get along.”
More lies. We got along great until I broke up with him.
I blink against the memory of that horrible night and shrug like it’s all no biggie. “I wasn’t one of those women who would tell him what he wanted to hear because he was famous.”
Half-truths R Us.
Noli shakes her head slowly. “That’s not what I meant.”
I cock my head, waiting for her to continue .
“Before you caught sight of him and went over there, I noticed him…watching you. He didn’t look annoyed. He looked…I don’t know.”
I bite my lip, and when she doesn’t say more, I prod, “What?”
“Like he was longing for you. Is that weird? I don’t know. It felt like there was some sort of invisible string that was connecting his gaze to you…and like he didn’t want to sever it. He seemed into you.”
I toss my arm around Noli’s shoulder and lead her into the hotel, dismissing her assessment of Anton’s expression without another thought. She obviously got his intense dislike confused with desire.
I click my tongue. “Hate to break it to you, but Anton Bates wants nothing to do with me.”
That ship has sailed off into the sunset. More like it’s crashed into an iceberg.
“If you say so.” Noli drops the subject when she spots Collin coming out of the coffee shop off the hotel’s lobby.
“Maple-cinnamon latte for you.” He holds out a drink for her. “Rose, I couldn’t remember for sure, but I took a guess that you’re a cold-brew type.”
I greedily grab for the drink, mentally applauding my sister for picking such an upstanding man. One that absolutely nailed my coffee order. A red-eye from Green Bay to LAX was our best option for getting here, but I’m going to need all the caffeine I can get to survive this weekend.
Collin was able to get us checked in while Noli and I were outside, so we take the elevator to the fifth floor and go to our respective rooms.
I toss my bag on the bed and flip on the television, scrolling through the guide until I find coverage of the golf outing. On the screen, Holland is playing with a foursome of his buddies. They’re relaxed, dressed in shorts instead of their usual long pants, and they’re all smiles. I scan the crowd behind them, and all the attendees seem like they’re having fun, enjoying the LA sun. The broadcast switches to a camera angle of a makeshift red carpet, and a familiar black Escalade comes into the frame.
My heart rate spikes with awareness. Anton will step out any second. My body is bracing for another sight of him. I went five years without this sort of exposure. Now it’s like my systems are on Anton overload. They aren’t handling it well, to be honest. They’re all snapping and crackling with long-dormant electricity. It’s a fire hazard.
The man in the passenger seat steps out and opens the back door to the SUV. Anton is the first to exit. He smiles and waves at the crowd lining the red carpet. Even through the TV, I can hear the uptick in screams and squeals. Anton’s smile is practiced but kind. I know this isn’t his favorite sort of event, but he does it for the greater good. I have no claim to him, but watching him work the crowd, I feel a surge of pride in my chest. He’s a really good guy.
A guy you have no business swooning over, Rose!
I need to get my head in the game, Troy Bolton style. Anton’s safety depends on it.
He turns to shake the hand of someone in branded, pro-am apparel. Must be a big-wig for the charity event. The camera stays trained on Anton, and I’m marveling at his calf muscles when a flash of yellow enters the frame and leaps on his back. It’s a woman with long, wavy blonde hair. She’s wearing a yellow halter top and white cut-off shorts. She fits in with the rest of the bystanders out enjoying a day on the links, but she’s currently got her arms wrapped around Anton’s neck, and the next thing I know, she yanks him to the ground.
No .
I dive for my bag and wrench out my phone, all while trying to keep an eye on the TV. The camera is still rolling, and there’s a dog pile on top of Anton.
No. No. No .
Guilt rips through me as I speed-dial my dad. I should be there. I should somehow be able to save him from this. What am I good for if not for that?
“Lennox.” My dad’s no-nonsense tone snaps me out of my spiral.
“Something happened at the golf-outing. Anton went down.”
There’s a curse from the other end of the line.
I glance back at the TV, and they’ve gone to a commercial break. I swear under my breath.
“Where are you?” my dad asks.
“At the hotel. I saw it on TV.”
“Hold on.”
The next three minutes take three years off my life. I pace around my room like a bull in a cramped pen. I grab for my small purse, in case I need to head to the golf course—or God-forbid, the hospital. I have no idea if Anton was hurt in the skirmish. What if that woman injected him with something? What if he’s dead? I catch a glimpse of my expression in the full-length closet mirror. My skin is practically translucent.
“It was a crazed fan.” My dad’s annoyance is clear through the phone line. “Apparently, she’s a known issue. This is not the first time she’s attempted to get close to him.”
I flop onto the bed, breathing for the first time since I saw the ball of sunshine launch herself at Anton’s back. All that stress over a crazed fan. Seriously?
“She’s being escorted off the premises by security. Bates is fine.”
“Good.” I release a shaky breath. My heart rate is still accelerated, and I sit on the edge of the bed to collect myself. I’m more rattled than I should be. “That’s good.”
“Get yourself in a better position to look out for him, Rose. You shouldn’t be calling me for information on your principal. You should be there in person. That’s what you’ve been hired to do. Penwick is counting on you. So am I. ”
As if my own guilt wasn’t enough…
“I was planning to head to the golf course shortly, and—”
“I don’t need excuses. I need action.”
“I know.”
“Do you? Because I solidified the plans for Europe.”
The silence stretches between us. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
“You’re finally ready to set up the satellite agency abroad?” I clarify.
Lennox hums in the affirmative. “You play your cards right, and you’ll officially be my pick to get it off the ground.”
“Understood.” My response comes out sounding noncommittal and sterile. I’m excited, but I’m something else too. Something I don’t want to examine while I’m on the phone with my father.
“Good.” Lennox matches my tone. “Check in from the gala tonight.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone for a second before tossing it onto the bed.
A chance to go to Europe again. This is big news. I’m not surprised my dad is using it as leverage. Nor am I surprised he waited until now to sweeten the pot. He knows what he’s doing. Travel has always been a big draw for me. A chance to get out and explore. It was the diversion I needed after everything went south with Anton five years ago. I told my sisters a job opportunity had come up for me to help in an English immersion school abroad, and they didn’t ask questions. I’ve always been nomadic, bouncing from job to job, place to place. It’s the nature of the work I do. My sisters think the vagabond lifestyle is my preference—that it’s a part of who I am. But I truly have no clue if it is, or if I’ve just been doing it for long enough that I don’t know any different. What do I really like? Who knows?
What I do know is that, right now, I can’t help but think of The Downer with something that feels like fondness. There’s a pinch in my chest at the thought of packing up my suitcase and leaving Cashmere Cove—not just for a weekend in California, but for an indeterminate amount of time—to work overseas.
What about Mood Reader?
What about my sisters?
What about Anton? We’ve just reconnected.
The thought snaps me out of my spiral.
Silly, silly Rose. I haven’t reconnected with Anton. I’ve been assigned to protect him. Nothing more. Nothing less. Anton is not a factor here, except for the fact that I need to keep him safe. That’s job number one. Everything else hinges on it.
I dump my carry-on bag out onto the bed next to my phone. I’ve got shorts and a t-shirt to sleep in, a pair of joggers and a fresh shirt for the plane ride home tomorrow, and an evening gown.
I shake out the fancy red dress and head to the closet for a hanger. The fabric cascades to the ground, and I pray the wrinkles somehow disappear before I have to put it on later tonight. I’m not usually self-conscious. There’s no time or headspace for that in this line of work. But Anton’s going to be there tonight. As many times as I tell myself he’s nothing more or less than the job, I’d be lying if I said I don’t remember what it feels like to have him look at me—and really see me.